Sherman Thompson-Elemental Reaction
by vampitup1317
Summary: This is the story of Sherman and how he ended up in the Mass Effect universe. he will join Shepards crew. this story will follow the cannon a little bit. events wont really happen like they did in the game. these events will start in the Middle of ME2 and move on.


(John T. Thompson made the Thompson submachine gun)

Sherman Thompson sat at his table cleaning his namesake gun. It had cost him an arm and a leg to get the two types of Thompson's. The one in his hand, the Chicago typewriter, and the one on the table, a simple World War Two model. His TV was on just for background noise but what was said next caught his attention. His hand stilled on his gun as the man started to talk about some of the experiments that Russia was working on.

"From what our source says this is a new type of bomb that is the size of a small plane. In fact it is a small plane. They have put a little bit of every element in that plane in hopes to get several chain reactions when the bomb goes off. The Russians have made the statement that the bomb is going to be tested very soon. In other news…"

Sherman just shook his head. How many people died for that information only to have Russia announce it like it was their plan all along? He may not have served his time for his country but he had his connections to know what was going on. His friends would usually call him to help outfit their teams. He had the tactical know how to be top dog in the navy seals, in the marines, and even in the rangers. He could have gone anywhere but he chose to stay home with his collection of guns giving advice when asked. Don't get him wrong, he would die for his country but only if it needed him. He had nothing against Russia, other than the fact of the tension between them and the U.S., it just seemed that it was going to the highest bidder.

He set down the typewriter on the table. He looked at his other guns trying to choose which on to clean next. His eyes slid over his 1911 colt .45, a G18, a Glock .45, then rested on his .44 magnum. The magnum and the colt had a special place in his heart. His most cherished and few memories of his father were out shooting those two guns. He would shoot the 1911 and his father the .44 magnum. Picking the magnum up he smiled as he remembered the first time his dad let him shot the gun. He had never seen his father laugh so hard. Five years after that time his father was killed trying to save a downed chopper pilot. He snorted at himself, trying, ha, his dad was the reason that pilot is still alive today.

His phone started to vibrate bringing him out of his past. Looking at the phone he read the alert he had set. The package should be here by now. He had ordered the centennial edition of the 1911 and was told that it would arrive today. Setting the magnum back down on the table he walked to the ladder and started down. The ladder went down to the garage where his two cars sat. A 1967 Shelby GT 500 and a 1988 Jeep wrangler. The wrangler he had bought when it came out, but the GT had been handed down the family line.

Over the years Sherman's gun collection had grown bigger and bigger until a gun safe couldn't handle it anymore. The room that he had just left was his gun room. The only way in or out was that ladder, which he folded and pushed up to the ceiling. Looking across the street, he saw his friend mowing the lawn around the many toys that peppered it. Stepping out of the garage he spots a man with a NRA logo on his back knocking on his door with a package in his hand.

After signing for it Sherman went back to his gun room to open it. Setting it down on the table he looked around for something that could help him open it cleanly his eyes landed on his Bowie knife. Walking over to it he picked it up off the wall a smile tugging at his lips. He got this knife the same day that he first shot the magnum. His dad had bought it for him to say sorry for laughing at him so hard. Walking back to the table he thought of the last time he had used the knife. He set it down on the package; it had been over twenty years. Looking down at the knife on the package a smile made its way to his lips. The knife was just as long as the package and almost just as wide. The humor for him was that he would only be using the tip of the knife to open the box lest he damage the goods. He carefully opened it to find the gun wrapped in bubble wrap and a note on the top. It read,

Mr. Sherman Thompson

The case was damaged for various reasons. A replacement will be sent to you within five business days. Sorry for any inconvenience. As a valued member we hope this token will help.

The NRA

A chuckle sounded in the room. He knew them well enough that they know he didn't care as long as he got his gun. Pulling out the gun he looked backing the box to see what the token was. Looking back up at him were six new extended magazines for a 1911, twelve round mag by the look of it. Smiling he set the box under the table with most of his ammo. Pulling the wrapping off of the gun he started to clean it and check if it could be used. After thirty minutes he had cleaned the gun and was running a cloth along the barrel wiping off the extra oil. His hand trailed over the engravings of all the major wars that the 1911 had been used in. Walking over to the wall he placed the gun in the spot he prepared for it the day he ordered it. Going back to the table he grabbed the box with the extended mags in it and a box of .45 he had next to it. Pulling out one of the clips he started loading it. One…two…three…he sighed at himself, he used to be able to load a clip in no time but now he was rusty. Ten…eleven…twelve…yep it's a twelve round mag.

He looked up to see where the sun was in the sky and laughed. He forgot that there were no windows in his gun room. Shaking his head he picked up his other 1911 off the table to clean it. Not a minute later a massive sound reached his ears. At the same time the sound reached his ears the room shook violently. Guns fell off the wall and table. After a little while the shaking stopped.

Sherman waited a few moments for the pain in his ears to ease before he moved. Staggering to his feet he made his way to the ladder to find out what happened. By the time he reached the bottom of the ladder the ringing had lessened considerably. Walking out of the garage he brought his hand up to his forehead trying to rub out the pain. The moment he stepped out of the garage he noticed two things. First, that he stepped down half a foot. Second, when he stepped down he felt and heard the crunch of dirt not the solid, rigid feeling of the cement of his driveway. Taking his hand away from his forehead he saw…nothing. Everywhere he looked he saw the land going on like the ocean, complete with the rise and fall. The dirt had a red orange color to it and the place was barren. No sigh of life anywhere, well not from where he was standing anyway. Walking to the right he head toward his front door…that wasn't there anymore. Slowly stepping backward he saw that the garage and the gun room were the only part of the house that was here…where ever 'here' is. Looking at the spot that the rest of his house used to occupy he noticed something about half the size of a car tucked up against the house. It looked like a plane, a very fat plane that could barely hold a person. Curiosity got the best of him and he walked up to it to see what was inside it only to stop short. In the distance he saw something big but couldn't make it out because of the heat distortion and the fact it was partially hidden behind a hill.

He moved a few steps forward then stopped. Leaning against the wall, just behind the fat plane like thing, he stared at the object off in the distance. Something had happened but the implications sent his head spinning. The only things he had to go off of was the violent shaking, only part of his house was here, the fat plane like thing, the object in the distance, and his surroundings. He chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. Using what he knew he couldn't even come close to what his mind was telling him. His mind was telling him that a few minutes ago he was in a rural area now he was out in what appeared to be a dessert. The connection…none. Shaking his head he told himself to get more information before jumping to conclusions. There was one thing he did know being a tactician and that was to get as much information as possible about the situation before you make a move or in this case trying to understand what happened. He pushed himself off the wall.

He started to walk around to the right to see what was left of his house. As he turned the corner he saw out in the distance a cloud of dust moving rapidly toward him. Sherman quickly turned around and ran, making his way back inside the garage. He reached over the back of his jeep to pull out a pair of binoculars. Leaning around the corner of the left side of the garage he looked through his binoculars. He saw something long that was pointing to at what was left of his house. It looked a lot like a barrel. His mouth went dry as he looked closer to see an unmistakable shape of a tank, a tank that was hovering above the ground a good 3 feet.

"A flying tank" he mumbled to himself.

Unsure weather they were friend or foe he headed back into his garage to grab his keys to his GT. The tank looked fast but he knew his GT was faster. A moving target is harder to hit than a still target. The thought that they might be friendly but quickly brushed the thought to the side, they were coming at him with a tank. He opened the door to his GT and sat down inside the black leather interior. He ran his hand along the steering wheel while he checked a few things. The GT was family heirloom or rather he hoped it would continue to be but never found the one he was looking for yet. His grandfather bought it brand new back in 67. It's been handed down through the family since. From the time his grandfather had bought it, it had been modified to his liking. It now had a 3 gallon N.O.S tank which he planned to use as a last resort.

He turned the key to on to see how much gas was left in the tank. ¾ of a tank, that should be enough he thought. Leaving the keys in the ignition he made his way to the window facing the tank. He watched the tank pull close to the house then settle as it powered down. Three armed men stepped out followed by a very strange humanoid alien with amphibian like texture with big eyes and what looks like skin covered bull horns. No, horn, it looked like the other had been torn off. The three solders moved toward the garage as the alien stayed by the tank talking to someone inside. One solder looked his way. Sherman quickly ducked out of the way hoping that the solder didn't see him. He man his way quickly back to the GT and waited with his hand on the key.

"I just saw something move by that window straight ahead." The solder to the right said into his com. The amphibious humanoid turned toward the solders.

"Please, don't kill. Could affect experiment. Capture to study. Need as much data as possible." The humanoid said in a fast staccato like speech. All three solders nodded.

"About to enter." The solder in front said about ten meters away from the garage opening. No sooner had the words left the solders mouth something roared to life. Everybody raised their gun to the direction of the noise.

"Mordin?" one of the solders asked. The amphibious humanoid, Mordin, moved to answer. Before he could a loud squealing sounded out just before something flew out of the building.

As soon as the solders were close enough that he was sure he would catch them by surprise he started the engine. It rumbled to life as it ran on all 8 cylinders. He threw the car in to first gear and floored it. The GT took off down the long stretch of flat dirt. In the rear view mirror he noticed a puzzled look on the solders faces and interested look on the amphibian like face. A ghost of a smile crossed Sherman's face. After a few minutes of flooding the engine with gasoline he slowed the car down look for signs of pursuit. The tank was now in the game, time to find what the limits of the GT were. His foot put the accelerator to the floor. The tank stalled a little, almost as if it was surprised by the sudden burst of speed. Sherman reached his top speed just as the tank adjusted its speed and slowly gained on him. He flipped the red switch to activate the N.O.S. As soon as the N.O.S. hit the engine his car jumped forward throwing him back in the seat, barley keeping control. He looked down to his speedometer to see the needle reach 175 mph only to keep moving. Glancing at the rearview mirror he sees the tank slowly falling behind. A red light started blinking on the dashboard. The engine was starting to overheat. He shut off the N.O.S. and the engine, thankfully, starts to cool down. The tank slowly grew in the rear view mirror as the GT slowed down. Noticing in the distance some sort of flaw in the landscape he headed towards it. Rapidly approaching the flaw he sees it's a small cliff. He waited a few seconds as he drew closer before he hit the N.O.S. The front end of the GT to lifted just as he flew off the cliff. While in the air the thought crossed Sherman's mind that he was being chased by a hovering tank. What would a cliff be to it? After executing a perfect landing he glanced at the rearview mirror. His eyebrows shot up, tucked against the cliff were two people. One of the people was waving wildly as the hover tank slowed down to turn around. Not willing to waste this chance he ran hot for as long as he dared. After a few minutes he looked for another cliff that he could take shelter under while his car cooled down and he could plan his next move.

**Well here is another idea I had. Let me know what you think of it. I may or may not continue it from what I get back from you, the reader. Should it stay or should it go?**


End file.
